


My Poetry

by GwenTheTribble



Category: Christian Bible, Greek and Roman Mythology, Original Work
Genre: Biblical References, Feminism, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hades - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Intersectionality, Persephone - Freeform, Poetry, Queer Themes, Queer Youth, Rape Culture, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, There's something dangerous about the boredom of teenage girls, tw: mentions of rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:24:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1883358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwenTheTribble/pseuds/GwenTheTribble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just some stuff i have written</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

To the painter who will tell me that he can make me a masterpiece  
i am already a masterpiece  
i do not need you to run your hands down me  
and tell me what you will fix

to the sculpter who will tell me that he can find me in stone  
your chisel can not recreate the power in my stride  
nor the sharpness of my tongue  
do not even attempt my eyes  
you will never have skill enough to capture me  
i will not allow you to try

to the poet who will tell me that can immortalize me with his words  
do not dare try to describe me  
do not use your inept metaphors  
do not write as if you know me  
you would try to write away my flaws  
i dont need you to immortalize me, i can do that myself

to the artists who will try to make me their muse  
don't


	2. Chapter 2

you say that muscles  
on a girl  
are disgusting  
all i hear is  
a woman who shows her strength  
is something that scares you

you are afraid  
because you know you have reason to fear  
a woman strong enough to stand up for herself?  
you can not have this   
yesterday you wolf whistled at a jogger  
today she is the wolf  
strong enough to pay you back

a woman who has muscles   
does not play by your rules  
she will work to be strong and does not care what you say  
she wears her strength as obvious as a billboard sign  
she will not smile politley at your catcalls  
she will not cross her legs tightly on the subway  
to make more room for you and your ego

yesterday you wolf whistled at a jogger  
today she is the wolf


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is hades and persephone

My love for you is a war cry. 

Our kisses the howling of the Damned.

Slide your arm around the softness of my waist.

Do you see that I wear no armor?

I love the way your noble nose bleeds.

Please, I long to worship you.

I am so devoted to you.

Swear your undying loyalty.

Lie to me. Swear oaths on our love.

Break them. Kill for me. Kiss me when I have blood in my mouth.

Break me. Plunge a knife into your heart at the thought of being without me.

I love you. I hate you.

Amen.


	4. Chapter 4

This is for the kid that is out.  
This is for the kid that has only told the people that follow their blog.  
This is for the person that lifts their chin when they tell people.  
This is for the person that whispers it.

This is for the gay girl in a woman’s studies class listening to the instructor saying that not all feminists are hairy lesbians.   
The kid that got kicked out.  
The girl that burst into tears when her dad said he wasn’t voting for that guy because he legalized gay marriage.  
This is for the kid that doesn’t believe in god anymore. The kid that struggles to make peace between faith and sexuality.  
The kid that throws love thy neighbor back in people’s faces.  
The boy that stares at dresses in stores.  
The gay girl who has to keep telling everyone she’s bi.  
The kid that is facing hate on all fronts, not just this one.  
The genderqueer kid who says something about it when those aren’t their pronouns. The genderqueer kid that bites their lip and accepts it.  
The kid who got asked if they have a preference and refused to say because they knew they were trying make them gay or straight.  
This is for the 50 year old closeted trans woman. The eighty year old who just found out that they were never broken.  
The person who just wants to be want they’ve been told is normal.  
The person that doesn’t care.  
The person that’s still changing names to find a good fit.   
The kid who’s been called a special snowflake one to many times.  
The person who’s identity is never in the questionnaire.  
The kid that is just holding out for 18.  
This is for the person that gets called immature because they never wanted a relationship like that.  
The kid that feels like there’s no way out.  
This is for the person who gets asked if they’re a girl or boy.   
The person who has to explain that pan and bi are not the same things.  
This is for the kid who only figured out what they were when they took a test.  
This is for the kid that has known since they were 8.  
The 45 year old who is still bringing their special friend to thanksgiving dinner. The 14 year old who told everyone the day they realized it.   
This is for the flamboyantly gay man. This is for the gay man who has never sung show tunes in his life.  
This is for the lipstick lesbian. This is for the dike.  
This is for the sex repulsed asexual. This is for those that don’t really mind it.  
This is for me. This is for you.


	5. Chapter 5

Touch my rounded thighs.

Trace your fingers down my ribs.

They are your rosary beads.

My name is your Hail Mary.

You shall be the same for me.

These stolen hours shall be our prayers.

Maybe god hates us, make me your savior.

Kiss me. Light candles in my honor.

I have been raised in church pews.

If i cannot worship god than you are my higher power.


	6. Chapter 6

What do you think of, when you first wake?  
Do you have any siblings? What are their names?  
How many times did you fail a math class?  
How long did you love your first love? Did you fear her hair would twist into your noose? How much more did you love her when she threw a vase at you?  
When did your parents stop pretending? About Santa? About knowing why the sky was blue? Can you think of anything else they pretend about?  
What’s your favorite type of ice cream?  
Are you afraid that I’ll leave or that I’ll stay?  
Will you watch the Victoria’s Secret fashion show with me?  
Do you love your grandma? You don’t actually have to. I just want to know.  
What color was your childhood room?  
Did you start running to pretend you were going somewhere?  
How many closets have you sat in? How many of them were real?  
Can you still remember the name of your first pet? Did it die after three days because you overfed it? Do you overfeed everything you love, in some way or another?   
Do you wish you were the kind of person who burned people up? I do. All the time. I’m not sure what I want you to be.   
What terrible secret do you want to come to light at your funeral?   
Do you believe in God? Do you believe in anything?  
How often do you want to destroy your entire life? Is it all the time, but only when you’re angry?  
Did your mother yell at you when you broke the next door neighbor’s window/her own heart?  
Exactly how in love are you with life? How many times a day does that change?  
What do you think of late at night?


	7. Chapter 7

I. The night is alive and so am I.  
II. Maybe instead of the wildfire I long to be I should be a rolling storm.  
III. Or maybe just the shadows. Maybe the night is harsher than the day.  
IV. Maybe I should be the creature that stalks alleyways and lonely roads, it snaps trees and throws boys to the dirt and makes girls with ill-fitting skin shiver. (I’ll tell you a secret: I don’t know many girls who haven’t felt like they were something stuffed into a body that’s only going to cause them grief.)  
V. Maybe I am more suited to being a burning star, something pretty and theoretically dangerous. (I’ll tell you another secret: there is only one star that we know of that’s ever hurt anyone.)   
VI. I am only an earthbound girl wanting to have claws sharp enough to kill the lurking men in the night. Maybe I can only ever hope to be standing in the storm and hoping that I am never the moon. (This is the last secret I’ll tell you: the moon is old and strong, but she has a flag planted on her.)


	8. Chapter 8

i dream of being an ancient youth

grim glory, aged gold

i want old blood

old blood in my veins, old blood on my knife

Romes last good year

 


	9. Chapter 9

Queer is looking at your greying parents and knowing it could be worse

Queer is having it worse

Queer is your friend being kicked out and outed and admitting to thinking about _just how many pills_?

Queer is good days and bad days with family

Queer is only bad days

Queer is clawing at the good days so you don’t end up one of the statistics that make your bones shake

Queer is sobbing in your mother’s arms because she said something so hurtful and she didn’t know

Queer is knowing that some of your friends will never see crows feet

Queer is seeing every flaw of society that is a knife in your lungs

Queer is knowing that other people get to live their whole life without this heartache

Queer is your only safe space being a bar

Queer is old men in suits who look like they take Viagra before they do something that has never come with a death sentence, not for them, then going on TV and coding their hate as traditional values, American values, Christian values

Queer is a biblical life expectancy

Queer is homelessness

Queer is assault

Queer is god she’s pretty I wonder what it’d be like to hold her hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to give this a happier ending


	10. Chapter 10

There’s this girl (and isn’t there always?)  
and I swear on my mothers smile   
that if the ancients saw her  
They’d know just what too do with her  
hips like Earth, hips like providence  
she’s the perfect size for worship

Put her under your pillow and you’ll bear twins  
make her a statue and place her in the market place  
you’ll know good fortune like never before

She’s the kind of girl who glows,  
and this must prove shes H O L Y  
her smile is better than any after life

   -hair i'd like to whisper prayers into


	11. Chapter 11

I could love her like a call to prayer

and when we kiss i see peace treaties

(we never kiss)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -i imagine she tastes like sacramental wine


	12. Chapter 12

I’m so damn tired of writing poems about the queer struggle

Tired of comparing girls with dark eyes to holy oil

Because they say what we do is a sin  
But when I close my eyes i swear my heart pounds with our fear

And in everything I write you can hear the echo of their cries

My siblings are being killed

And their murderers can plead gay or trans panic in 49 state

My siblings are being killed and people hold protests at their funerals

My siblings will have to forever have the wrong names on their tombstones

My siblings are having violence committed on them everyday

My siblings are homeless youth

Kicked out by their parents and labeled runaways

Cant you spare a nickel, everyone knows those gay guys cant live without their hair products

My siblings are feeling their cheeks burn with shame for who they are

And all I can do is write these damn poems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -metaphors and similes wont save them


	13. Chapter 13

Speak not of Peter.

Nor Andrew.

James.  


Philip.  


Bartholomew.  


Mathew.  


Thomas.

James, the son of Alphaeus.

Simon the Zealot.

Not even Judas. Speak instead,

Of the thirteenth Apostle.

Mary of Magdala.

Mary who washed His feet.

Mary at the cross.

Mary of wayward women.

Apostle to the Apostles.

Mary how long did you wait to wash your hair?

Did you run to the cross to get the ichor on you, because you’d take anything as long as it was from Him.

Mary, they called you a reformed whore,

Combined you with the unnamed sinner,

As though your name wasn’t written twelve sacred times.

As though those holy by extension men wouldn’t have called you by name.

You, who Yeshua showed Himself first.

Was you hair a mess after that? When before you were proud, and kept it richly oiled, did it become a lions mane?

Did you run your hands through it when it was thick with sea salt and ministry?

Mary, is there a way to keep faith and adoration separate?

Mary, did you even try?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Whos Heart is Raised to the Kingdom


	14. Chapter 14

They say:  It doesn’t matter if you’re gay or straight, black or white, man or woman!

I think: This is a nice dismissal. This is a nice way to undermine my identity.  This is a nice way to erase people.  This is a nice way of saying; I would rather pretend the differences don’t exist than accept them.

 

They say: Don’t fight fire with fire!

I think: When you condemn someone to a pyre it’s not their fault when their kicking feet knock a stick towards you.

When you let someone burn all their lives they are allowed to hope that their embers fly to you.

 

They say: Things get better!

I think: For who? The homeless youth? The correctively raped? The victims of conversion therapy?

It may get better, but for many it is too late.

 

They say: Why does everything have to be gay? Why can’t it just be about the story?

I think: I deserve as much as you.   I deserve the last kiss in a teen drama and the eternally angry old couple in a sitcom, I deserve children’s books and adventurers and princesses and dumb romantic comedies.  I deserve more than a single stereotype to represent the whole of who i am.

I deserve to see myself.

 

I think: My identity is a joke to you, my gender a slur, my body is something to be disrespected.

 

I think: You take and you take and you take, and when we finally gather our voices to scream that we are starving, you shout over us.

 

I think: Who I am is a target on my back and glass in my heart but I’m never going to use pliers on it. They are my cross to bear, and I’d rather carry it than any whip.

 


	15. Chapter 15

I started feeling like a woman the day i realized

that men thought of me as one.

My father taught me how to make a fist

and block a punch

when i was eight.

I'm trying to grow my nails out

because i can't defend myself when they're so short.

I'm not sure how boys become men,

but it's not like this.

They don't come of age because they fear

becoming a crime scene.

Girlhood ends with changing bodies and inviting smiles.

Girlhood is murdered on the streets, murdered in the malls,

in schools, on the pages of magazines,

put to death on national TV, with the words of politicians.

Girlhood commits suicide when girls realize it is not a safe place.


	16. Chapter 16

This is a heartache of other:

They love you and you love them

But their words are a mean left hook,

A steamroller, a head on collision.

Love and good intentions can hurt so much. 

This is a heartache of other:

The books that led me to God more than church ever did,

Were written by a man who believes I can be cured.

This is a heartache of other:

I could shout statistics on discrimination, 

Violence, bullying, homelessness, employment, 

Depression, substance abuse, murder, education, 

And suicide, and people would still say

That there’s a lot of injustice in the world,

And go back to their lives,

Having had only a moment of mildly concerned apathy.

This is a heartache of other:

Your standing with people is never certain.

This is a heartache of other:

If it’s not one thing it’s another.

This is a heartache of other:

You cannot allow yourself to break. 


	17. Chapter 17

I hope one day you recognize

The flowers blooming

 From your mouth.

Your ocean floor spine. 

The clouds that catch on your hips. 

I hope one day you own yourself.

-letters to my future daughter part I


	18. Chapter 18

“I. Think about the first twist of betrayal. Does it come easily?

 Were you the sinner or the sinned against? (She held the flowers she had gathered like a bridal bouquet.)

 

II. Think about the first time you used your body and succeeded. 

Was it the chest thrust or hair flip or back arch or lip bite that got them?  Girls know intimately every way to catch attention. (She knew he was watching her, and bent at the waist to admire a rose.)

 

III. Think about your distant father and clingy mother and the constant itchy buzz of wanting to be grown up. The cheap lingerie you own is a secret, never worn and always thought of. 

(The pomegranate juice paints her lips like a prom queen.)”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Teenage Girls Have Always Been Lethal


	19. Chapter 19

God kissed your face

 And made eyes. 

God kissed the earth 

And made canyons.

Aching. Wild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -to dark eyes girls


	20. Chapter 20

The city extends her ringed hand and makes you shake.  
The glittering city arches her back and says come.

-Her Legs are Spread But You’re Still Going to Have to Work For Her


	21. Chapter 21

Don’t rush.  
Crawl like the child you still are.

-letters to my future daughter//written twenty minutes after my first kiss


	22. Chapter 22

There are new feelings coming.  
I am on the brink of myself.

-They Will be Here Soon


	23. Chapter 23

There will be poems where   
all you can taste is my bitter.  
Where you choke on the salt of my ocean.  
I write these so I can be honey in your ears


	24. Chapter 24

Last night I dreamt again  
Of the cyan blush of your heart.  
I haven’t slept in a week.

-You Are Not Cold. You Are Just Burning too Hot to be Red.


	25. Chapter 25

You wrecked that song for me,  
You know.  
I understand it now.  
It's just.  
Why did i choose it to comfort me over you?


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is about a girl named Ariel and all you need to know is that Jerusalem was reffered to as Ariel in the days of yore as like an alias, at least thats what ive read.

Dear Jerusalem.  
Monet painted eyes.  
Honey skin. Honey hair.  
Bones like a cross.  
Bones like a mother who has labored over something holy.

When you told me your name,  
I could hear the ocean, another girl’s call to prayer.  
It’s the alias of holy places.

I wonder now if that means you left the wailing wall of your lungs behind.  
Maybe you only took what you could run with.

I imagine your bones. Your sunset skin.   
Your hiding name.

When I think of you you are always just beyond the rocks.  
You are on the shores of your heart,  
It was to heavy for your bones to take with them.   
There is no prayer on your salt pillar lips.

 


	27. Chapter 27

**The Earth is a Woman**

 

My heart; the great coward

It darts, making flowers


	28. Chapter 28

         **You Are All Power**

         

         Forgotten girls.

      constantly invalidated.

Girl, quiet. Girl, quiet your heart.

Girl, cover those legs. Cover up.

        Cover shoulders.

         Cover breasts.

         Cover power.

                 Smile now.

                   For me.

Your feelings are unimportant to me.

They  shouldn’t interrupt my viewing pleasure.

                Happy me.

          Unhappy yourself.

             Give yourself.

             Emotional creatures.

                  The Maid.

   Justice to Journalism.  The girl king.

   Teenage girls have always been powerful.

               Stop covering.

                 Stop caving.

               Continue being.


	29. Chapter 29

Tattoo ideas:   
I. A question mark on my right ass cheek.   
II. His hands above my knees, his fingers just below the line of my skirt.   
III. A sun to warn everyone that I am unbearable. The ocean to warn everyone that I will cling and then rush away.  
IV. Her lips pressed to my neck.   
V. Flowers on my hips.   
VI. OBEY GOD, NOT MAN for my wrist, where my blood is beating.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Humanity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6274609) by [ShanleenKinnJaskey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShanleenKinnJaskey/pseuds/ShanleenKinnJaskey)




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